The Horn of Saint Michael
by knightcommander
Summary: Scamp is just a normal, everyday teenager... until a series of disturbing dreams lead into an adventure beyond anyone's imagination.
1. Chapter 1

The winter air was bitter cold, as snow fell and covered the land in an icy blanket. The French countryside was taking on an ethereal twinkling as the deep snow reflected the light of the full moon which hovered overhead. The trees were leafless, and covered with snow. Despite the beauty of the landscape, they gave off a sense of foreboding… almost as though death itself waited behind the wall of the trees which marked the forest border.

A soft crunching sound was heard as a rider on horse back traveled down a well-ridden road that was now covered with snow and thin layers of ice where standing water had been. The horse was covered in steel plate armor, as was the rider. The horse's flanks were decoarted with cloth of pure white with a bright red cross in the center, the symbol of the Christian religion. The cloth matched the surcoat wore by the rider, which was pure white and emblazoned with the red Christian cross. At the rider's side hung a steel broadsword in its black scabbard. His polished steel helmet gleamed in the moonlight, his eyes barely showing behind the tiny eye slits. On his back he wore a thick cape to keep him warm in this bitterly cold weather.

That is, bitterly cold for October. It was nigh on All Hallow's Eve, the day before the Christians would celebrate their great feast of All Saints, and normally the weather here in France was cool but warm enough that one could go outside without having to bundle up for such biting cold. Something strange was going on, and no one knew what it was, except of course, for this knight.

He stopped when he reached the border of the forest. He took the helmet off of his head, revealing his canine visage. The fur around his muzzle was scruffy, giving the appearance of a beard. The grey fur that covered him was scraggly and disheveld as a result of many days of travel through the French countryside. His eyes, a deep brown like freshly brewed coffee (although such a thing was unknown in the time this knight was living) stared straight ahead into the dark forest. He could feel the cold feeling of dread washing over him, as though the entire forest reeked of death and the icy, cold chill of deepest fear itself. The knight crossed himself and kissed the small wooden crucifix, blessed by Pope Honorius IV himself before the brave knight set out on his mission. He silently began to pray for his safety and success.

"Lord Jesus Christ, my Savior and Redeemer, by the prayers of Michael the Archangel and all Your soldier saints, make my own hand become Yours, that I may defend the weak and helpless, and drive the oppressor and the evil into oblivion. Guide my sword in battle, and help me to uphold what is right and just. In Your name, hear my prayer. Amen." He said, saying his own personal prayer before he dismounted from his horse. He brought the horse over to a nearby fence and tied his reins to it.

"These woods are no place for a horse, not even one so brave as you." He said to the animal. "I will return." He said, stroking the animal before turning toward the woods, and entering their dark depths.

---

Death and evil. That's what he sensed as he made his way down the forest path. The moonlight was barely penetrating the cursed blackness around him, and he could barely see his own armored hand in front of his face. But he pressed on, hand gripped tightly on the grip of his sword, his lips reciting from memory the one-hundred and forty-third Psalm.

"David benedictus Dominus fortis meus qui docet manus meas ad proelium digitos meos ad bellum." He said, which in English read "Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and my fingers to war". He kept reciting this Psalm of David as he crunched through the icy snow which coated the path. The icy chill of evil permeated the air, and surrounding him like a fog. His heart told him that he would need aid if he were to conquer this evil. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small book, bound in leather and filled with illiminated pages, depicted a series of musical notes of the type invented by the Italian Guido d'Arezzo many centuries before. He turned the pages of the book until he found what he was looking for, and then took out a silver horn from behind his cloak. The horn gleamed in the soft moonlight that made its way through the forest canopy, and was etched with images of angel wings on the end, and with Latin phrases saying "GOD WILLS IT" and "FOR THE GLORY OF GOD".

The knight but the horn to his lips and, using the book as a reference, blew a sharp tune on the horn three times. He then stood still in the spot, waiting, ignoring the cold air and the sense of death and evil pervading the air. Shortly, he began to hear a noise, like something was charging through the brush. He turned to face the direction of the brush, just as a huge form came crashing out of it.

A large creature, nearly seven feet tall, came bursting out of the brush and straight at the knight, and for a moment one would think that the knight would be attacked. But before the creature reached the knight, he slowed down and came to a complete stop so that he could face the knight. It was then that the creature's wolf like head and human like body became apparent. His large frame was covered with thick, gray fur. His ears stuck straight up and and were set high on his head. His eyes were piercing blue and seemed to stare straight into the knight's soul. As the knight stood, the wolf creature bowed down, as though a squire showing respect to the knight he served. The knight was not fazed.

"You summoned me, my lord?" The wolf creature asked, in perfect English. Again, the knight was not fazed.

"Do you sense something here, my friend?" The knight asked. The wolf creature sniffed around, allowing his powerful sense of smell to take stock of the forest they found themselves in.

"This place reeks of death." He said. "And blood." He said. The knight nodded.

"The bastard of Narbonne is preparing his foul rituals." He said. "We must move quickly. Find me the best way into his keep."

"As you command, my lord." The wolf creature said, taking off into the woods. He was soon out of sight. The knight kept going, crunching his way through the snow. He kept his sword gripped in his hand the whole time. This posture would serve him well, as he soon ran into a group of soldiers camped along the road. These were mercenary soldiers, Flemings judging by their language, men who sold their services to the highest bidder. The soldiers were singing a very lively tune, one which the knight had heard before while on crusade.

"Ale makes a man slumber by the fire," they sang, "ale makes a man wallow in mire." The tune was catchy, and the men were drinking merrily while singing it. The knight took a look at them. Their surcoats bore the emblem and colors of the mysterious gentlemen that had recently made his home in the castle along the road, Comte Arsis de Narbonne. He brought with him a cloud of evil that nearly everyone in the region could sense. It was rumored that de Narbonne had made a pact with the devil himself, and practiced dark magic and bloody occult rituals.

The knight figured they were too drunk to notice him, and tried to walk past them in the shadows, but the bright white surcoat attracted their attention. One of them called to the others and leapt up. They all drew their swords and moved to block his path.

"Nowhere to run, Templar." The apparent leader said. The knight drew his own sword.

"Stand aside, brothers. I have no quarrel with you." He said, firmly and authoritatively. The soldiers just laughed and, with a loud battlecry, charged. The knight calmly raised his own weapon. The first soldier to reach him was easily cut down. The next managed to swing at him, but the knight easily parried and kicked him away, driving his sword into the belly of another soldier, cutting down another as he raised his weapon, before finishing off the last one with a sword blow to the neck. He silently prayed for forgiveness for having to kill the men, and then wiped the blood from his sword before placing it back in its scabbard.

"May they rest in peace." He prayed, before continuing on his way.

---

The sense of evil only got worse, when he finally reached the castle. The stone was jet black, and the windows glowed a bright orange. The contrasting colors gave it the appearance of a fortress in hell itself, and if it was true what the rumors said about de Narbonne, it might as well have been. The knight ignored the sense of dread that was rising up within him, and carefully examined the situation before him.

He could see several soldiers manning the battlements of the castle, armed with wicked looking barbed spears and, presumably, bows and arrows. More soldiers guarded the drawbridge outside the castle, armed with the same wicked looking spears, along with swords. All of them wore black leather armor and bore surcoats with de Narbonne's emblem and colors. The eyes of the soldiers were watching the forest and the path, looking for anyone trying to attack the castle and ready to give any needed warning. The knight's careful eye also caught something else; he noticed, in the glint of the moonlight, camouflaged wooden devices scattered all around the moat and grounds… devices for triggering booby traps.

It would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get into the castle unscathed, at least by the front way. If the traps didn't get him, the soldiers would, as even his skills weren't enough for an entire army. Unless there was a way to get in from the back…

A cracking sound indicated that his wolf friend was approaching. The creature bowed to him.

"What did you find?" The knight asked.

"There are many traps scattered about." The wolf creature said. "But I did see some people entering the castle through a secret door that went down into a cavern." The knight smiled. A way in had been found.

"Show me." He said. The wolf creature led him down a hidden, overgrown forest path that went around the castle and led straight to the rear. The wolf creature began sniffing around, looking for the scent of the men he had spotted. He kept searching until he found it, and uncovered a secret door. "Good work, my friend." The knight said. "Wait here." He said.

"My Lord, should I accompany thee?" The wolf creature asked. The knight shook his head.

"Wait for me here, and tarry not if you hear the call." He said. "But, until then, I must face this beast alone." The wolf creature bowed, and the knight descended into the tunnel, to whatever fate awaited him.

---

The tunnel stank of mold, and the walls were slimy with algae and God only knew what horrid sludge. The knight slipped in places on the slimy floor of the tunnel, and he made his way via dim torchlight. He grunted each time he did, trying to stop himself from falling. It was obvious this place had once been under water.

"I would have thought a Lord would have a better sense of cleanliness." The knight said, even if he worships the devil." He groaned as he slipped once more and nearly fell to the floor, but he recovered in time to find a drier part of the underground tunnel. He rushed down the tunnel and found a flight of stairs leading up. He smiled.

---

The knight entered a large chamber, light by the light of many torches and candles. It was obvious that he had entered into the chapel of the castle, although one wouldn't have been able to tell from the desecration that abounded the once holy space. The beautiful religious stained glass had been removed and replaced with glass bearing all sorts of odious occultic symbols. The statues and religious artwork were gone; in place of the crucifix and statues bearing the owners patron saint and the Blessed Virgin, there now stood blasphemous, demonic images bearing devilish figures and arcane imagery. Most horribly, where a religious icon might have been, there was now a painting of a leering, monstrous devil with great wings and glowing eyes of the fiercest red. The horrendous desecration and blasphemy made the knight physically ill, but he kept going.

He soon heard a sound coming from the nave of the chapel; a chanting sound. He went forward, staying out of sight, to see what it was. He saw a man standing in front of a High Altar desecrated with occultic and devilish symbols. The man was wearing a hooded robe covered likewise with occultic symbols, and was standing in front of a black stone altar, upon which rested what appeared to be a human figure. The knight waited until the man bowed and cold not see him, and then crept across the way and climbed up into the pulpit of the chapel. He couldn't believe what he saw.

It was a human figure alright; a woman, her wolf visage bearing an expression of pure horror, but a cloth gag rendering her unable to cry out for help: the daughter of Charles de Valois, the Count of Anjou, Marie de Valois. She had been set to wed the son of the King of Naples, but had disappeared from the Valois manor in Orléans recently. Now here she was… about to become a human sacrifice to whatever devilish beast de Narbonne worshiped.

The knight steeled himself and left the pulpit. He could hear the blasphemous prayers being uttered by Arsis, chanted in Latin, the sacrosanct tongue of the Church now being used in foul worship of the devilish monsters. The knight approached the horrendous scene and drew his sword, the characteristic "zing" catching the attention of the fallen Comte. The knight held the blade in front of him in a battle-ready pose.

"Forgive me for interrupting." The knight said sarcastically. The wicked lord, his feline eyes blazing with some unholy fire, smiled wickedly.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is this the valiant Sir Robert Mallory standing before me." He said. "Pray tell, why would the French request an Englishman to take care of their business?"

"Pray tell me, why would a once proud and noble man like yourself commit yourself to such heathen rites?" The knight, revealed to be Sir Mallory, asked. "It surly cannot be the décor." He jested, pointing to the hideous images around them. "Tell me, has the devil turned up yet, or is he off deceiving someone else?

"Your jesting is most misplaced." De Narbonne said. "I am a liberated man, and you, knight of the Temple, are but an empty puppet of the Church." He cackled evilly. "A mere marionette on a string, dancing for his papal masters!" He said. The knight kept his passions in check, saying a silent prayer for the insults directed toward Christ's Church.

"What is liberation if it costs you your soul?" Sir Mallory said. "You are in luck, though. The order has asked me to take you to them alive, so that we might find a way to free you from the devil's control. Repent of this idolatrous blasphemy, good sir, a restore your soul." De Narbonne laughed, a shrill cackled that sent shivers up the knight's spine.

"What is salvation if it makes me weak?" He asked. "My master has given me power beyond anything you can comprehend. Why not join me? I can give you whatever your heart desires if you will only acknowledge my power." He said. The knight's expression fell.

"Your temptations fall on deaf ears." Sir Mallory said. "I now find it small wonder that the good Lady de Valois rejected you for Charles." That did it; de Narbonne snarled in rage.

"I don't take kindly to insults from an English pig." He said. With a roar, he formed a fireball from demonic power in his hand and hurled it at the knight. He just barely managed to dodge it. The wicked lord flung two more at him, setting the pews of the chapel on fire, but not hitting Sir Mallory. The wicked lord chanted some arcane words, and objects began to hover over them. Mallory braced himself as torches, candles and other items flew toward him. He deftly blocked them with his sword before charging de Narbonne and landing a kick to his stomach which sent him to the ground. Another kick made him retch and double up in pain. He soon found the steel of Mallory's sword pressed against his neck.

"It is over, my Lord." He said. "I will give you one last chance. Repent and abandon your malicious ways, and you will be give mercy." He said.

"Do not presume so much." De Narbonne said. He thrust his hands out and struck the knight with bolts of hellish lightning, which sent the knight flying hard into a stone pillar. The wicked lord shocked him again. Mallory screamed in pain before collapsing to the ground. De Narbonne stood up. He began to whispered horrid arcane words, and the High Altar appeared to split and open in to a hellish portal formed by sickening fleshly material, pulsing as though alive.

"And now you shall face your fate, valiant knight of the Temple!" He said. Mallory felt himself being drawn toward the portal. He tried to hold on to the pillar, but his strength was sapped and he was dragged toward the portal. "Enjoy your own personal hell!" He laughed evilly as the knight was dragged further. His body was wracked with weakness and pain, but a fresh surge of determination and a prayer for further strength, he summoned what little he had left and took the horn from his belt.

"What is that?" De Narbonne asked. "A horn? How pathetic." He said with another evil cackle. Mallory just placed the horn to his lips and blew a tune. Lady Marie looked up at them.

"And so it ends." De Narbonne said. "Farewell, Templar." He said. Sir Mallory kept inching closer and closer to the portal, and it did seem as though it would be his end, until…

"What in the name of AAAAH!" De Narbonne screamed. Mallory felt himself being lifted up and the draw of the portal gone. He also heard de Narbonne struggling as he was let down. He turned to see the evil lord grasped by fleshy extensions of the portal, being dragged down into a fiery pit. He huffed as he struggled.

"As you rise, so shall you fall." Mallory said.

"Rot in hell, you son of an English sow!" He roared. "This is not the last of me. I shall return, and I will be more powerful than any man alive, and not even your precious order will stop me!"

"I don't know what power the devil has given you, but rest assured your evil will never thrive." Mallory said. "So long as your black arts survive, so shall my friend here and all his cohorts. You will never rise again, to that I swear." De Narbonne roared as he was dragged down into the flames.

"Death, is only the beginning." He said, as he was swallowed by flames. Then, they were knocked to the ground by a forceful blast as the portal closed.

"Ugh!" Mallory huffed as he hit the ground. He got up in time to see the Lady had fainted. He immediately scooped her up after recovering his sword. "Come, we must leave." He said to his companion, as wicked shrieks began to fill the air. They could see shapes in the sky through the windows.

"Yes my Lord." The wolf creature said, as they fled the chapel. As they did, Mallory could swear he heard a voice.

"Death… is only the beginning."

---

Seven years after his incredible rescue and defeat of Arsis de Narbonne, Sir Thomas Mallory was forced to watch his fellow Templars rounded up on false charges of heresy due to the intervention of the unscrupulous King of France, Phillip IV. Pope Clement V, realizing his grave mistake in suppressing the order and Mallory's status as a great hero of Christendom due to his bravery during the Crusades, quietly dispensed Mallory of his vows as a Knight of the Temple and secretly sent him back home to England. Landless and destitute, he lived for a short time in the chapter of house of the Hospitallers in London before King Edward III granted him land in Ireland, and funds to build himself a modest manor house. He served in Edward's campaigns in Scotland for a short while before retiring from war permanently, marrying a beautiful Irish maiden named Margaret. He lived the rest of his days as a quiet country gentleman, raising his children and making a name for himself as a patron of the Irish churches and monasteries. He died in 1341, a well respected man who's true legacy is only now being discovered by his descendants.


	2. Chapter 2:  Olde New England Town

Chapter 2: Olde New England Towne

Springtime in New England brought with it the blooming of the mayflowers, which also happened to be the official state flower of the state the little town of Union Falls was located in. The quaint houses and rolling green hills gave the sense of a typical New England colonial village. Colonial New England style houses dotted the streets, complimented by lovely churches and a larged domed building that served as the town hall. A nearby train station completed the ensemble, along with gorgeous public parks and well trimmed greenery.

One area in particular, filled with upper crust homes where the wealthy residents of town resided, referred to as "Brahmantown" (for the large number of wealthy people from Boston that lived there), and less often as "Snob Hill", looked grand as ever. The entire neighborhood had been decorated with red, white and blue ribbons and assorted items. Flags flew from every home, and businesses were selling all manner of decorations and special food for the day; the 4th of July, America's independence day.

Which happened to also fall on a Saturday this year, which everyone knew was a lazy day for the village's teenage population. Up at the crack of noon, as some would say.

One in particular was still fast asleep in his room, buried deep under his white and blue comforter and sheets, so just his ears were visible. The morning sunlight was beginning to creep through his window and hit his face, causing him to roll over and growl, trying to get some extra sleep. It was no use, however, as he had been woken up by the solar intrusion and, grumbling, got out of bed and looked at his clock. It read 11:25 in the morning. Overslept again, he thought.

Grumbling, he got up out of bed and hobbled over to the mirror door of his closet. He took a good look at himself.

The fur that covered his body was grey, light on his stomach and darker on the rest of him. He looked at the world with walnut brown eyes. The fur on his muzzle was scraggly and almost resembled a beard. His ears had the stereotypical "schnauzer" look; that is, schnauzers with natural ears, as the tips were folded over. His fur was scraggly and messed up from sleeping, not to mention sweating during the night. His face betrayed a tired look, one that clearly said he did not get enough sleep.

"Bleh." The teen said. He looked like a wreck. Time to clean myself up and start the morning, he thought to himself. He wiped a fuzzy off of the wife beater shirt he wore to bed and hobbled over to the bathroom. He started his morning by first washing his face to get the sleep out of his eyes. He scooped the water from the sink and splashed it onto his face, shaking it off and drying himself off with a blue monogrammed towel that had his initials; S.M.O'Gib.

Sean Michael O'Gibealain, but better known by the nickname he had picked up as a child; Scamp.

As a child he was known as quite the mischievous one, causing his parents to start calling him "Scamp" as a tongue-in-cheek joke. But his days of mischief were long over, and now it was the last thing on his mind. Right now, all he cared about was a hot shower. He turned the shower on hot and waited for the water to warm up, yawning as he did so.

Finished with his shower, he toweled himself off and brushed his fur so that it was neat and soft to the touch. No sense in looking like a bum, he thought. He then went into his room and looked around in his closet.

"Hmm, what to wear today?" He said. He rummaged through his closet looking for what to wear, pushing aside an assortment of shirts, jeans, pants, sweatshirts, et cetera. He finally settled when he found his favorite shirt. It was a black t-shirt with an icon of the family's patron saint, Michael the Archangel, emblazoned on the front, holding a sword in his hand, wings unfurled and the sword held up as though saluting, his right foot standing on the head of a defeated Satan. The design had been drawn up by a family friend, Jock, who had a penchant for art. Jeans and a pair of sneakers completed the ensemble.

He likewise slipped on a gold rosary ring, a gift from his grandmother, and his silver Celtic crucifix, blessed by his local parish priest. In the pious Catholic custom, Scamp kissed the crucifix, in veneration of the Savior of the world. Ready for the day, he went downstairs.

"Mom! Dad! I'm up!" He called. No answer. He called again, but still the house was silent. He scratched his head, and then spotted the note on the table.

"Huh." He said as he read.

_Scamp,_

_Your father and I took the girls out with us shopping. Their birthday is coming up, so I need you to take this cake order down to the bakery for me. And, if you think of it, can you also get a card for your sisters? Thank you very much._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Scamp smiled. His three triplet sisters, Annette, Collette and Danielle, would be turning seven soon, and the last couple of days had been hectic trying to prepare. His dad had been planning on taking them to Six Flags New England, and had managed to secure some tickets despite the busy season, and the others had been busy with their own chores. His mother, named Lady by her own slightly eccentric mother, had been making the preparations for dinner for the big day, and Scamp had been busy searching out a gift for them. He found the perfect one just the other day. His sisters had always admired his crucifix, and so he had searched for and found some gold ones for girls that were just like his. He always felt gold looked better than silver on girls.

He put the paper down and cooked himself some eggs for breakfast. He said a silent prayer over his food before eating quickly, wanting to get his mother's request done as soon as possible.

That is, if his tired body would let him.

Sleep had been difficult for him for the last few days. At night, his sleep was disturbed by strange dreams, which would wake him up in the middle of the night and make it difficult for him to get back to sleep.

And it was always the same thing too. He found himself in a forest, his surroundings in black and white. He kept going through the woods, panicking like he was lost, until he reached a clearing, and suddenly his vision took him straight to a large mountain or hill, and that would be the point that he would wake up.

And last night was not different. He had the dream again. What was going on with him? Was his mind trying to tell him something? He shook that thought out of the way. He was no prophet. He highly doubted, for all his deep faith, that he was having visions. It wasn't healthy to make assumptions anyway.

Feeling tiredness come over him, he made himself a cup of coffee with sugar. He smiled. This was one of many things he had apparently inherited from his father; his father was almost never seen in the morning without a mug, and Scamp himself pretty much took to the black stuff the first time he tried it, albeit he was bouncing off the walls later.

He took a long sip and thought about his dream some more. The more he thought, the more he began to wonder.

The downtown was bustling with continued activity. Mostly, people were shopping at the various grocery stores, searching around for the perfect picnic lunch for the town's annual Independence Day picnic and fair. Families loaded with cheeses, potato salad, turkey and other assorted picnic foods crowded the parking lot of the local supermarket near Scamp's house. I hope the inside is less busy, thought Scamp as he looked at the scene in front of him. He stopped by the supermarket to pick up some extra items for the family's picnic basket, hoping to surprise everyone.

Checking his wallet to make sure he had enough cash, he casually entered the store and began looking around. He spied some tasty looking salami (his parents had a taste for just about anything Italian) and ordered a pound of it. His mom, despite her roots, enjoyed anything Italian, so they always made sure to stock up on some. Scamp next checked the list he had made of the extra things he wanted for them. As a result, he failed to notice the figure in front of him until he hit it.

"Oof!" He huffed. The other figure grunted. Scamp bent over to pick up the pencil he dropped when he noticed who it was.

"Oh, hey Mike." He said. Michael Warren Fratelli, a nerdy looking though handsome to the eye of a lady black cat with white around his nose and on the tips of his ears, rubbed his head from where it had bumped into a display.

"Scamp, can we not meet like this?" He joked. "How ya doin' man?"

"I'm tired, I got AP Calculus next year and I just realized I never had my first kiss yet." Scamp said. He grinned. "To answer your question I'm doing just fine." Mike and him shared a hearty laugh.

"You and me both." He said. "Though, if my luck goes well, that'll change pretty soon." Scamp looked at him.

"You're gonna do it?" He asked. Mike nodded.

"Yep." He said. "She's right here in the store." He said. He was referring to his latest crush, a blue-eyed border collie beauty by the name of Muriel Daley. A regular at Scamp's church, attending Mass daily and receiving the Eucharist just a frequently, Muriel was as warm-hearted and compassionate as she was beautiful. Scamp would have asked her out himself if he were so inclined, but he felt that she was meant for his best friend Mike. So for the past month, he had been egging Mike on to ask Muriel out, and now it seemed his persistence had paid off.

"You got a plan?" Scamp asked.

"Simple." Mike said. "I just ask."

"I'd introduce yourself first." Scamp said. "No sense in getting yourself slapped." He said.

"Don't remind me." Mike said. He thought back to the last girl he asked out, a pretty cheetah. His reward was a sock to the jaw.

"You've got nothing to worry about." Scamp said. "Just be cool and you'll do fine." Mike smiled.

"Thanks." He said.

St. Cecilia Catholic Church was one of a sadly vanishing breed in America; a traditionally built church with a cross shaped architectural lay out and beautiful decoration. The original High Altar, used when the Extraordinary Form of the Mass was the norm, was of a rich white marble with gold inlay. Statues and religious icons decorated it, complete with a magnificent crucifix. A gold tabernacle, used for housing the Blessed Sacrament, sat in the middle of the High Altar, easily in view of the faithful when at Mass.

In front of the High Altar was a simple, but no less beautiful, free standing altar used for the Ordinary Form of the Mass. It was made of white marble with images of angels kneeling before a depiction of the Eucharist; a host over a chalice. Two white candles topped the altar, along with a sacramentary (the book containing the ordinary and propers of the Mass), a Book of Gospels for the Gospel reading, and in the center, a covered chalice, paten, altar linens and other items used in the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

A figure wearing a black cassock moved about the velvet carpeted sanctuary, lighting the tabernacle lamp and genuflected before it. A male raccoon of 33 years, Father Benjamin Greely was one of, if not the, youngest priests in the Diocese of Fall River, formerly of the Archdiocese of Louisville in Kentucky, where he was born. A member of the Jesuit order, Father Greely came to St. Cecilia when the old parish priest, Father O'Bannion, retired. Greely had been welcomed warmly by the parish, but hadn't yet celebrated his first Sunday Mass there. There would be time for that soon, though.

Greely walked down from the High Altar and adjusted the altar cloth on the free standing altar, making sure it was neat. He then stood in front of the altar and made sure he had enough room to genuflect and everything. Though not a traditionalist, he preferred to celebrate Mass _ad orientam, _or to the liturgical east. He smiled. Plenty of room to work here, if it was a bit unorthodox to celebrate _ad orientam _from anything other than the High Altar; he would reserve that for when he celebrated the Extraordinary Form, which had been trained in by friends at the Institute of Christ the King.

His preparations for Mass complete, he genuflected again before the tabernacle and went back to the sacristy to prepare. Parishioners would begin arriving for daily Mass soon; indeed, some had already arrived, and he often led them in a recitation of the rosary before Mass began. His vestments were arranged on a table for him. He vested himself, saying a prayer for each item, finally clothing himself in a green "fiddleback" style chasuble with rich decoration. Vested for Mass, he prepared to go out to the nave to lead the congregation in prayer when he heard a knock at the sacristy door.

"Now, who could that be?" He wondered out loud in his thick Southern accent. He walked over to the door and opened it to reveal a teenage girl. He guessed her age to be around fifteen or sixteen, with an athletic but feminine build. She had sandy colored fur and appeared to be a Spitz mix of some kind. One ear had its tip bent over, and her eyes were a unique hue hadn't seen very often; almost a steel blue color, as opposed to the regular gray he was used to seeing. She was dressed in a pair of faded blue girl's jeans and a white shirt, both of which were stained in various places with what appeared to be coal dust. Her jeans were torn in places and patched over with various materials, giving it a strange color pattern. She looked almost like a homeless girl or runaway. Her hands were clasped in front of her, holding what appeared to be a set of pearl rosary beads.

"Can I help you, Miss?" He asked. The girl sighed.

"Father, I need to make a confession." She said. Her voice was one of a person who was exhausted and beaten by the streets. Father Greely felt a great deal of compassion for her. Mass or not, he never refused a confession from a repentant sinner.

"Of course." He said. He led her back to the small traditional confessional in the church. "When you're ready, just go in here." He said, pointing to the door where the penitent would kneel to confess. The girl nodded. Father Greely entered the confessional and sat in the chair where the priest sat. He took a purple stole, kissed it, and placed it over his shoulders, then waited for the girl to enter. A light turning on told him she had. He leaned in closer to be able to hear her.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." She said, crossing herself. "It has been three weeks since my last confession, and I accuse myself of having stolen four times." She said. Father Greely didn't even flinch. Even in his short time as a priest, he had heard just about everything short of murder in the confessional. Hearing someone confess stealing didn't even phase him.

"Stolen what exactly?" He asked.

"I picked the pockets of two tourists and stole money from the purses of two women." She said. Greely wasn't surprised. Desperation often led to desperate measures. He could think of a lot worse mortal sins that she could have committed to survive.

"How much?" He asked. "And where did this occur?" He wanted to know for her penance; making amends for the theft would be the ideal penance for it.

"When I was in New Hampshire." She said. "It was about six hundred dollars." He nodded. He wasn't about to send her back to New Hampshire to make amends, so when he was sure she had nothing else to confess, he admonished her to spend an hour before the Blessed Sacrament, and to pray a prayer of reparation for her sins, before absolving her.

"Before you leave," he said, "do you have a place to stay?" He asked. She shook her head.

"No." She said sadly.

"If you want, the parish often shelters homeless until they can get back on their feet." He said. "You're welcome to stay with us until then." The girl was surprised to hear this.

"What? No one's ever let me stay with them." She said. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome." He said. The girl left the confessional after bidding Father Greely farewell. Once she was clear of the confessional, she walked back to the rear of the church, and promptly burst into tears. No one had ever shown her such kindness before… such care and love.

She didn't know it just yet, but her life was about to take a turn for the better.

"There she is." Mike said. Nerves were beginning to overtake him. Scamp and his friend had encountered Muriel on the rare occasion that she did not attend daily Mass in the cereal aisle. Muriel was a bit of a health food nut, and loved her Kashi breakfast cereal. Wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a modest Boston Red Sox t-shirt, she looked the part of a teenager on the weekday after school. Her sapphire blue eyes scanned the shelves, looking for her favorites. She brushed some of her black border collie bangs out of her face and whipped her long hair back over her shoulders.

Mike was frozen with nerves. There was no way he could do this in his state. Scamp put a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax, calm down." He said. "You don't have anything to worry about." He said.

"Except peeing my pants." He said. "That's a real turn on." He quipped. Scamp snickered.

"Not even that.' He said. "You didn't have anything to drink recently, did you?" Mike scowled.

"That's not funny man!" He hissed. Scamp clapped him on the back.

"Just playing around to loosen the mood." He said. "Take it easy and you'll do fine." They waited until the aisle was empty except for them, and then Scamp gently pushed Mike forward.

"Go for it man." He said. Mike just nodded, steadied his nerves as best as he could, and then walked over to Muriel. She was too busy looking at the bottom shelf, comparing prices, to notice.

"Um, uh, hi." He said. Muriel turned to looked at him.

"Oh, hello." Muriel said with a sweet smile on her face. She stood up to face him. Mike took a long look into her eyes, and was instantly mesmerized. He gulped. Muriel still smiled.

"I uh…" He said. "I j-just wanted to s-say hi and, I w-wanted to ask you s-s-something." Scamp crossed himself.

"Please Lord, help him." He said. Muriel cocked her head.

"Mind if I ask you your name first?" She asked. "You look familiar but I don't think I ever caught it."

"It's M-Mike." He said. "M-Mike F-F-Fratelli." He said. Muriel giggled. She couldn't help it, guys looked so cute when they stuttered. It then dawned on her what the question might be. She blushed slightly under her fur. However, Mike didn't get the chance to ask, as her cell phone beeped with an incoming text message.

"Excuse me." She said. She opened her phone to read the message. "Darnit, mom wants to go the mall. Sorry." She said. Mike, looking crestfallen, nodded.

"OK." He said. "Well, I'll cya later." He said. Muriel waved goodbye and turned to leave with her items. Mike was about to as well, when she turned around with a piece of paper and handed it to him, winking. Mike was surprised.

"Huh?" He said. Then he read the note. It was her phone number. He grinned widely. "Yes!" Everyone turned and stared at him. "What? You wouldn't be happy?" He asked sarcastically. Scamp laughed.

Scamp whistled as he left the store; a familiar tune most people would recognize as a popular rock song from back in the day. Scamp was a music nut, and it was rare to see him without his iPod, playing songs from both old and new bands. In his arms he carried the items he bought. Thankfully for him, his parents had left him use of their car (he had just earned his license) so it would be a short hop from the store back home.

He put his items in the backseat and hopped into the driver's side, adjusting his mirrors before starting the car up and backing out. On the way home, he passed by Saint Cecilia parish. He then remembered he had never been to greet the new priest. All he knew about him was he was a Jesuit and was from Georgia, nothing else, so he pulled into the parking lot just as Mass was letting out. Scamp made a mental note to start attending daily Mass more often before leaving the car.

Upon entering the church, he genuflected before the tabernacle before he began looking for the priest. Figuring he'd be in the sacristy, he knocked on the door, but instead was greeted by the parish's elderly badger deacon, Gerald Webb, affectionately known as "Friar Tuck" because of his bald spot. He smiled upon seeing Scamp.

"Scamp my boy." He said, clapping the teen on the shoulder. "What brings you down here?"

"Oh, the usual." He said. "I was driving by and thought I'd say hi to Father. Is he here?"

"If you're looking for 'im here in the sacristy, you just missed 'im." He said. "You might try the rectory next door." He said. The parish rectory was located just next door to the church, where the parish priest lived. Though old, it was comfortable for anyone to live in, and was quiet, perfect for a priest.

"Thanks." Scamp said. "Oh, and if you're serving at the convent later, tell Mother Agnes I said hi." Mother Agnes, a kindly elderly squirrel, was the abbess of Our Lady of the Angels convent just down the road, and had been an acquaintance of his grandmother before she died. Then Sister Agnes helped his mother through some very difficult times, and had also been there for Scamp during life's rough patches. He visited the convent often to say hi to her.

"Will do my boy." Deacon Webb said. Scamp smiled before parting. As he was leaving the church, he spotted someone over near one of the side altars, someone he had never seen before. Figuring it was a parishioner, he ignored the person, until _she _walked up to him.

"Excuse me, do you know how to pronounce this?" She asked. "I'm trying to figure this missal out." She held up a small red missal for the Extraordinary Form, so Scamp didn't get a good look at her face, but he did see the word she was trying to pronounce.

"Ah, _mulireribus." _He said. He sounded it out so she could hear. "It's part of the Hail Mary in Latin, but you won't have to worry. They won't say it during the Mass." He said. She smiled, though it was hidden by the book.

"Thanks." She said, before turning back to the pew she had been sitting in. Scamp smiled, but then felt a sudden urge to go talk to her.

"Hey wait." He said. She turned to face him, and he got a good look at her. And, needless to say, he was instantly thunderstruck and rendered practically unable to speak. She was just so _beautiful._ The girl noticed his mouth hanging open and his eyes staring.

"Yes?" She asked, looking at him funny. He finally realized he was staring and tried to get his composure back.

"Gah, I'm sorry." He said. She smiled.

"For what?" She said. It was less a question and more of a "don't worry about it, I'm not offended" thing. Scamp laughed sheepishly.

"Well it's uh, not very polite for a guy to be staring at a girl you know?" He said. He rubbed the back of his head nervously. If he were in his psychology class, his no-sense-of-tact teacher would say that he was displaying classic signs of attraction, much to his monumental embarrassment. The girl cocked her head.

"You ok?" She asked, smiling. He nodded.

"Oh it's nothing." He said._ I'm just nervous around pretty girls, or are you an angel, _he thought. "I don't think I've ever seen you around here." He said. "What's your name?"

"Angel." She said. _It fits, _Scamp thought, _gosh do you have lovely eyes. _He pinched himself to get himself to stop thinking like that.

"Is that short for anything?" He asked. She shook her head. "Oh, well, it's lovely, really." He said with a smile. Angel, as her name was now revealed to be, smiled back.

"Thank you." She said. _Wow, he's cute, _she thought.

Scamp was silent. He didn't know what else to say. His brain frantically searched for something to send his mouth, and it came up with… "So, you're new?" He sighed silently at this.

"Yeah, I just came here." She said. "I uh, don't really have a place to stay, so Father is letting me stay here until I can find one." He said.

"Ah." Scamp said. "Well, if it's alright with you, I'd like to come visit…" He stopped himself. _Oh nice going Scamp, you just probably freaked her out. What to go dude. _He gulped, but to his surprise, she smiled at him.

"For?" She asked.

"Well, just in case you needed… you know, a friend." He said. She smiled widely and hugged him. He was taken aback, but he returned the hug.

"Thanks." She said. "I haven't had many friends." He smiled. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Oh, my real name is Sean, but everyone calls me Scamp." He said. She giggled.

"Why that?" She asked.

"Long story…" He said.

"I'd like to hear it sometime." Scamp smiled.

"I'd better get going, my folks'll be expecting me home soon." He said. She nodded.

"OK." She said, then looked around and, to Scamp's surprise, leaned in a kissed his cheek. "Bye." She said, before leaving to go back to her prayers. Scamp stood there, shocked and blushing, for what seemed like an eternity, before turning around and walking out of the church, grinning from ear to ear.

"OK, it's time for you to start cooperating, and quickly." The young male Maine Coon feline said, pacing back and forth. "You have a job to do, and an important one at that, and I expect you to do it, you got that?" He said. "No more games." He faced the subject of his authoritative speech… a computer.

Robert "Bobby" Winter had been working on a new voice recognition program for the past few years now. A child prodigy in computer programming, he designed his first complex program when he was thirteen, and now at eighteen, he was on the verge of creating something that could potentially be a huge seller on the software market.

That is, if he could get the thing to work right.

The problem with designing complex software programs was that they had a thousand and one things that had to work right all at the same time, which meant that the potential for bugs was high. And, in this case, the bugs were seemingly never ending. He had compiled a list of bugs that now numbered over 200 items, and the program wasn't even half done.

Such was the life of a programmer.

"OK, let's see if a hundred times is the charm." He said, punching some keys and entering some sort of code. He then began a test of the program. Thankfully, his fix worked, and at least this part of the program was now running smoothly. "Score!" He shouted, just as he heard a knock at the door. He quickly left his equipment and ran to answer the door, dodging stacks of paper and books along the way. He opened the door to see his friend Scamp standing there.

"Ah, hey Scamp." He said. "What's up?"

"The sky and the player's salaries of the New York Yankees." Scamp said.

"I can relate, and I'm from New York." He said. Winter had grown up in Queens, and as such was a Mets fan, and tended to hate the New York Yankees as much as any Bostonian.

"Mind if I ask a favor?" Scamp asked.

"Sure what is it?"

"I need some wrapping paper." Scamp said. "It's my sisters' birthday, and we haven't a think to wrap my gifts in." He said.

"I think we have some left over." Winter said. "You don't mind plain stuff, do you?"

"Not a problem." Scamp followed Winter inside, likewise dodging the stacks of paper and books to the kitchen, where Winter quickly located some leftover wrapping paper. It was a plain but pretty gold, which just so happened to be the triplet's favorite color, which might explain their attraction to jewelry. Scamp cut off the pieces he would need for the boxes.

"So what's new with you?" Bobby asked.

"Not much." Scamp said. "I stopped by at the convent to say hello to Mother Agnes, but she was out with the nuns on a food drive." He hesitated to mention what happened in the church, but his face betrayed that hesitation.

"And?" Bobby asked.

"And what?"

"There's something else you're not saying." Bobby said. Scamp rolled his eyes.

"Nothing ever gets by you, does it?" He asked.

"Hey, it's my job." He hunkered down in his chair and pulled out a handsome looking briar pipe and a tin of Virginia tobacco. "They don't call me the Union Mills Ferret for nothing." He packed the pipe and lit up, producing clouds of rather pleasant smelling smoke.

"Well, it's an interesting story." Scamp said. He told Bobby of meeting Angel.

"A girl, huh?" He said. "Well, well, it's about time there buddy." Scamp rolled his eyes.

"No, I didn't ask her out." He said. _Though I would be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about. _

"Why don't you?" Bobby asked, puffing on the pipe. Scamp sighed.

"Well, I don't know exactly how to say it." He said.

"Last I heard, it was only a few words." Bobby said.

"There's more than one way to do it." Scamp said. "I… well if I do, I want it to be… special I suppose." He said.

"Waiting for the moment," Bobby said, "nothing wrong with that, though I certainly advise you this; don't wait too long, because the chance could be gone before you know it." He said. Scamp nodded.

"I'll think of something." He said. He checked the time. "Ah, the sisters." He said. "I'd better get going." Bobby nodded.

"Take care, dude." He said. Scamp bade him farewell before leaving. Bobby nonchalantly puffed on his pipe with a grin. "And good luck." He said to the departed Scamp.

"Oh yeah, remind me never to buy tickets at the last minute again." A dog that looked like Scamp, but much older, said. "Jumping through hoops like that, I'm surprised it hasn't driven me to drink." A female cocker spaniel sitting next to him giggled. Scamp's parents were sitting in the yard, watching the triplet daughters play on a swing set. Lady took a sip of the lemonade she had just prepared.

"But you pulled it off." She said. "The girls will love the trip, Tramp." He smiled. He was best known by this nickname, though many insisted it didn't fit, it was one that stuck.

"Yes, they definitely will." He said. Just then, they heard the sound of a car pulling up. Scamp had returned. "Well whaddya know?" He said. He watched as his son walked up, a load of groceries in his arms.

"I got the stuff." He chirped. "Where do you need it."

"I'll get that for ya." His father said, taking it from him.

"Thanks, pop." He said. He then went inside, saying something about needing to do laundry. Tramp watched, confused.

"Is it me, or does he have an extra spring in his step today?" He asked. Lady smiled.

"You ask that like it's a bad thing." She joked. He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't mean it that way." He said. Lady giggled and kissed him.

"I'm sure everything's just fine." She said. He nodded.

"Yeah." He said. He returned his wife's kiss.

Little did they know that their quiet life was about to take a turn for the astounding.


End file.
